“For now,” I say. “Think of it like a toddler. They behave one way with a caregiver and a completely different way when their parent is in the room.”
Understanding flares across his face.
“He wants to please you,” I add. “Or brace against you. Either way, it changes the current dynamic.”
Harrison exhales slowly, nodding. “That won’t be forever, right?”
“No,” I agree. “Just until he learns consistency doesn’t disappear.”
“Explain more,” he requests.
“Red Ledger reacts badly to inconsistency,” I continue. “He mistrusts pressure. Flares when he’s handled tooaggressively. He learned early that staying tight was safer than relaxing.”
I don’t look at Harrison when I say the next part.
“Horses like that usually have trust issues.”
When I glance up, Harrison has gone still in a way I recognize. Shoulders locked. Jaw tight. Like something inside him just pulled back from the edge.
“I can relate to that,” he says.
It’s said lightly. Almost casual. But his body doesn’t match it. I don’t push. I set my glass down and wait. Finally, Harrison speaks again.
“I trusted the wrong person,” he says. “Once.”
That’s it. He doesn’t give names, details or even an explanation. The way he says it tells me this isn’t a wound that healed. It’s one he learned to walk around.
I nod, accepting it exactly as he gives it. “That’ll do it.”
His mouth curves faintly, not quite a smile. “You’re not wrong.”
We stand there a moment longer, two people letting a truth exist without trying to improve it.
“I’ll stay in the background watching the training. There will be some days I can’t make it,” he says.
“That’s fine,” I reply.
When he turns to leave, I stop him — not with words, but with my gaze. He pauses, looks back.
“This isn’t about keeping you out,” I say. “It’s about teaching him that what he’s given won’t be taken away.”
Something changes in his expression. He gets it.
“I understand,” he says quietly.
For the first time, I think he really does. After he leaves, I return to the stall. Red Ledger lifts his head when he sees me, ears forward, body loose in a way that pleases me.
“We’re beginning to feel comfortable with one another,” I murmur, not sure if I’m talking about the horse … or the man.
Chapter 7
Harrison
Idon’t make it to the track. The sun’s already climbing when I step out of the house, coffee in hand, boots still dusty from yesterday. There’s a gate down on the north pasture and one of the water troughs isn’t filling right. Normal ranch problems that I understand. I tell myself that’s why I stayed here today.
By midmorning, I’ve got my hands deep in rusted bolts and sun-warmed metal, sweat rolling down my spine. I wrestle the gate upright, cinch the hinge tight, and test it twice. The cattle watch me with lazy interest, chewing slow like they’ve got all the time in the world. I envy that.
My phone stays in my pocket. I don’t check it. In fact, I don’t even reach for it. If I start that habit, I won’t stop. Nicole said she understood if I couldn’t be there every day. That doesn’t mean I like it.
